


Tonight Love Is Rationed

by mugwortmarrow



Category: Bleach
Genre: Codependency, Established Relationship, F/M, Infidelity, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Melodrama llamas, No porn & No plot, Unethical non-monogamy, no beta we die like men, pretentious angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:21:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24264247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mugwortmarrow/pseuds/mugwortmarrow
Summary: The idea she is pushing is infuriating. Something primal in him rages. Shrieks that it’s his right to rip out her tongue for such audacity. But Grimmjow knows what she says is true. That the lies and the affair — because there is no need to deny what it is — are slowly eating Kurosaki alive.Or: In which Orihime and Grimmjow talk about the long-term affair between her fiancé and the arrancar.
Relationships: Grimmjow Jaegerjaques/Kurosaki Ichigo, Inoue Orihime/Kurosaki Ichigo
Comments: 15
Kudos: 83





	Tonight Love Is Rationed

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't have anything planned when I started writing, my only aim was to finally force myself out of a writer's block. In the end, this turned out to be angsty freeform where nobody is happy and nothing gets properly resolved.
> 
> Both tagged pairings are established relationships, but the text deals with Ichigo being in love with two people rather than building grimmichi or ichihime. 
> 
> **If you are uncomfortable with the idea of Ichigo cheating** or settings where infidelity is a precursor to a more consensual non-monogamous relationship, this is probably not your cup of tea.

* * *

_“It's time to act,_  
_wake up and just realise the fact,_  
_that what we've done,_  
_we have to recover from,_  
_cannot wait to save the things that we've broken,_  
_find the strength to let your mind be spoken.”_  
  
**Isak Danielson** , “Silence”

* * *

The room Grimmjow allows her to lure him into is dark. It reminds him of Hueco Mundo, where there is only moonlight in the desert darkness. But what little light bleeds into this room is not the natural light of the moon. No. This light comes from streetlights across the road. Filtering in through a window, illuminating the room just enough that he can make out the woman and the expression on her face. She is tense, agitated. Her reiatsu uncharacteristically hostile. Like she often is around him, especially when Kurosaki is at close proximity. Not that he can blame her.

Grimmjow is intimately familiar with the explosive anger that stems from knowing someone else is laying claim on what is rightfully yours. He knows the corrosive burn of jealously. Sometimes when he is with Kurosaki he can taste her. Lingering. On his skin. On his lips. She is not inept. She can sense reiatsu too, so it must be the same for her. But something in Grimmjow screams that it’s not the same. That he was the first to claim Kurosaki. As prey. As his. And this weak creature should not dare to venture into the realm of a hunter king.

The woman stumbles in the dark, backing further in. Grimmjow follows and slides the door shut behind them. He is anticipating another fight. Or rather, another litmus test. Test of his commitment to Kurosaki, test of his restraint. It has happened once before. On Kurosaki’s 24th birthday of all days. He had shown up at the party because Kurosaki wanted him to come. Grimmjow had been there and Kurosaki had been very bad at keeping his eyes to himself. The woman had accepted one drink too many and confronted the arrancar too publicly. The only reason why it hadn’t blown up on their faces — the reason why this tangle of theirs wasn’t public knowledge by now — was because Abarai (with his pretty friend from the 11th) had intercepted.

There is a loud burst of laughter from the other room and the muffled sound carries throughout the house, reminding him of the potential audience across the hall. Grimmjow wants to avoid a public mess because causing one would hurt and shame Kurosaki. So, he stalks closer to the woman. Hoping that if he is near, she will keep her voice low once the assault begins. She is now partly sitting on a desk, holding a cup of sake. Grimmjow grabs the drink from the woman, spilling some on their hands.

“That’s mine,” she hisses seizing the very first opportunity he gives her. Unleashes some of that jealous anger he knows she must feel. A sneer forms on his lips at her eagerness to subject him to her anguish. Such hypocrisy. No healing hands, no compassion, no wish for a painless world here. After all, even her misery loves company. His anger flares, so he hurts her.

“I’m sure your mother would be proud of the woman you become when you are drunk.” It’s easy to hurt her like this, with just words. Grimmjow has been in Karakura long enough to learn things from Kurosaki’s friends. He knows the words they use to describe the people who gave life to the woman in front of him. Abusive. Addicted. Abhorrent. He drinks the sake slowly and watches as the anger on her face morphs. It becomes shame. Sadness. Self-loathing. The reaction leaves an ashen taste in his mouth. There’s no thrill in going for such low hanging fruit. It feels cheap. Petty. He almost regrets it. Instead of apologising, he slowly licks the spilt sake from his fingers, intense blue eyes never shying away from her. As if he is savouring both the drink and her pain.

“Grimmjow,” she says his name with desperation as he leans towards the desk, placing down the empty cup. “This has to stop. There has to be _some_ solution to this.” The woman fidgets her fingers and doesn’t look at him. “We are all so miserable. It makes no sense. Not when it’s love that’s causing all of it.” Her anger is returning, the hurt from the insult dissipating. Grimmjow straightens his back, towering over her frangible figure. She doesn’t pay attention to his shift to a more intimidating pose. Instead, she continues with rising desperation. “I love Ichigo, more than I love anything else in this world and he loves me. Deeply. But he also loves you. He… He yearns for you. I’ve seen it and I can’t deny it. And I know that you love him too, I see that same-”

“I don’t love Kurosaki.” The denial is quick. Rehearsed. How many times has Grimmjow told himself that? He doesn’t love Kurosaki. It’s a lie. _Dirty, dirty lie._ They both know it.

“But he is yours,” she whispers. It’s not a question. It’s a statement and it feels so strange to hear her say it. To acknowledge Grimmjow’s claim. To give it credence like this.

“He is mine.” To kill, to sustain. To command, to obey. To curse, to worship. To hate, to love. When Grimmjow claims anything less it’s a lie. _Dirty, dirty lie._

There’s a flash of silence, but the woman seems to decide that arguing over semantics isn’t the way forward. So she continues. “You want him. You care for him. As you say, he is yours. Even if you don’t call it love, it’s close enough. The way things are, we are all suffering. Ichigo is drowning in guilt and shame. He is in pain from causing two people he cares about all this unhappiness. And you… You are afraid. Don’t even try to deny it. You are afraid of me forcing a choice on him. Because you know if I do, he chooses me. And I’m…” The woman draws in a shaky breath and Grimmjow is biting his teeth to keep from shouting at her. His fists white-knuckled in an effort to keep still. “I’m so jealous of how much he wants you. So hurt that I can’t be his everything. Like he is to me. And I’m turning bitter and spiteful and I hate myself for it. We are drowning each other-”

“Welcome to reality, princess.” Grimmjow growls, unable to stay silent anymore. He leans in, just a bit. Just enough to make her quail from his rising anger. “This is what life is. Pain and disappointment and messy shit that makes no sense, but hurts all the same. This is a textbook example of what hollows are born out of. A need, a hunger you can’t let go and can never fully satisfy.” His voice is low. A deep grumble in the dark.

“But _why_? Why does it have to be like this? We are at the centre of this thing. You, me, and Ichigo. And it’s not like we are actively trying to hurt each other. That’s not what is the heart of all this pain. What is causing this is _love_. And if we love each other, why can’t we fix this? Why should we just accept that something that is meant to be beautiful and noble has become twisted this way? I refuse to do so.”

“You can’t just wish this away!” Grimmjow bellows in frustration, but freezes when he realises that maybe she can. Maybe she can just reject this. Reject him. “Unless you’re going to make me disappear with your power or force Kurosaki’s soul to the state it was in before he knew me.” Even though he tries to hide it, there’s genuine fear in his voice. Could she do that? No. There had to be a limit, even to her power. And even if it was possible, she wouldn’t do it. Would she? “But that’s not you. You would never take such liberties, would you?”

“Never!”

The look on her face is pure horror. She is so truly aghast at the idea that she looks like he has physically wounded her. Grimmjow almost feels bad for voicing it. Because in reality, even he knows that this will not be solved by spiritual powers or battles. Blood will not bring a satisfying conclusion to this. He knows it. He knows what hurting the woman would break between him and Kurosaki. And he suspects it’s the same the other way around. If she were to do a thing like that, she too might break something unfixable.

“If… If I can learn to live with you in his life, can you learn to live with me in his?” The woman’s voice is nervous. Unsure. What she is suggesting makes Grimmjow’s hackles rise and his reiatsu thickens the atmosphere. She wraps her arms around her waist, instinctually trying to become a smaller target. Or maybe in an attempt to comfort herself. The woman doesn’t look at him. But Grimmjow studies her with sharp eyes, trying to take in her words and read from her body the things she doesn’t say.

“Can you really deal with…. How was it you put it? Not being his everything.” Grimmjow questions, tilting his head and keeping a fixed gaze on her. This conversation has already reached a territory he usually avoids at all costs and he hates her for dragging him into it. Forcing him deeper, to brush against a part of himself which he doesn’t fully understand.

“I can try.” The woman lifts her eyes to meet his. “I love him and I want him to be happy. I want peace for him. I want him to stop hurting.” This doesn’t seem like an attempt at emotional manipulation, but it confuses Grimmjow regardless of the intention. He isn’t quite sure what she is chasing with this, what’s her agenda. But there must be one.

“Kurosaki will never stop getting hurt. He will never stop putting his body on the line for others.” Grimmjow bluntly states the obvious. Even she has to acknowledge this. Otherwise, she is just delusional.

“Maybe that’s true. But I don’t want to be a source of pain for him. And…. I don’t know. I don’t know if I can do it, but I can try. And I would try. For him.” Their eyes lock in an intense stare. She seems vulnerable, emotions laid bare before him. Grimmjow sees no indication of lies or ulterior motives, but he does see her pain and desperation. Even with no malice behind it, the idea she is pushing is infuriating. Something primal in him rages. Shrieks that it’s his right to rip out her tongue for such audacity. But Grimmjow knows what she says is true. At least the part of Kurosaki loving her. And that the lies and the affair — because there is no need to deny what it is — are slowly eating Kurosaki alive. So he swallows down all the rancour.

“For him,” Grimmjow echoes. “But how?”

This kind of selflessness is foreign to him. Admitting to these complex emotions is still new and raw, even when he feels safe and wanted. When it’s just him and Kurosaki. And even then the feelings seem somehow twisted. Broken. Lacking. Always eluding him, not quite falling into place the way they should. But they are too strong to deny, have been for years. So maybe, just maybe, he can try too. For Kurosaki.

Always for Kurosaki.

“I don’t know,” she admits and turns her eyes to the floor. “I think that maybe there needs to be something between us too. Something other than jealousy or fear of one taking what the other can’t live without. Maybe that’s where we need to start. To vow that we will not push him away from the other and then build something between us…” She pauses and shifts. Grimmjow just watches and listens. She clearly has trouble putting all this into words, but he needs to hear them. The words. Because this is so out of the realm of what he knows that he can’t fill in the blanks. The woman takes a deep breath and quickly glances at him.

“I need to have something of my own with you. A bond that is not founded on Ichigo. So that I will care about your happiness too. Maybe then when I see you together the jealously rotting me will ease. Maybe then I can find relief in seeing two people I care about being happy. Instead of wishing that I was with him and you were gone. Maybe then I can accept that sometimes it’s you — not me — who will give Ichigo what he needs.”

Grimmjow doesn’t quite understand. He doesn’t understand how something like this even crosses her mind. That they should share. And to make that bearable, the solution is to add more feelings into this cluster of desperate want and need. Maybe it’s because he is a hollow, maybe that’s why it all seems so unnatural to him. Except somewhere in the back of his mind, it feels like he wouldn’t have understood even as a human. His territorial and possessive traits have always been so strong, more than just the hollow in him. But he knows that the woman is nothing but self-sacrificing. Capable of such keen insight and deep empathy that it was enough to interest even Ulquiorra. And pulling that man - no matter how slightly - away from the nothingness that had consumed him was no small feat. So maybe that’s why she sees what Grimmjow can not. Maybe he needs to trust her on this. Let her lead. Regardless of how it pains him, subordination like a collar of molten iron around his neck. But on this battleground of emotions and humanity, she is the stronger one. She is the Espada and he is just a fracción at the heel.

A moment of pregnant silence passes between them. Grimmjow listens to her breathe, listens how her heart beats. So loud in the silence. Fast. Like the hearts of small, weak animals usually are. He watches the streetlight reflect from her hair, the burnt orange so familiar. Reminding him of better things. For a moment he considers everything the woman has said. He takes his time and she knows better than to interrupt. Finally making up his mind, Grimmjow slowly raises his left hand and positions it between them. His palm now hovering near the woman’s face. At first, she doesn’t understand. She stares at the hand, confused, head tilting to the left. It’s the hand she healed all those years ago, he knows she remembers. But clearly she doesn’t quite get what it means. Or she wants to force the words out of him. He resents her for it.

“This is yours and mine. Ours,” Grimmjow begins with a muted voice and he can see her lips part. There’s a question hanging on the tip of her tongue. Again she has the good sense not to speak. Instead, she nervously tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear and grants him time to come up with the right words. Eloquence and self-expression have never been his strong suit. “Tsk. You know this shit. Tōsen cut it off as punishment. For not falling in line with Aizen’s plans. For leading five soldiers into wasteful deaths. Those were my fraccións, my pack.” His _family_. It had only been after their deaths, long after Aizen’s demise, when Grimmjow had realised the word applied. He had destroyed those who cared for him the most. He had destroyed what he was supposed to protect. All just to hunt Kurosaki. Even after all these years, he feels guilt twisting like a sword in his gut. Because he doesn’t regret it, not as much as he should. Because it was for Kurosaki.

The look in her eyes isn’t pure confusion anymore, now there’s curiosity. The woman leans closer, shifts against the desk and gives a small nod. It’s supposed to be an encouragement, but it feels like a tug of a leash. Anger swells in his gut. Anger is easier to navigate than the tempest Grimmjow is heading towards now. “Tōsen incinerated the arm, so it could never be reattached. To permanently mark me for my insubordination. I was stripped of my rank, I was humiliated. I was made weaker.” Impaired, incompetent, incomplete. “My enemies would have faced little repercussions for taking me out. You were in Las Noches long enough to understand what it was that mattered to the Espada…”

“Strength. Strength” She chants, barely audible. “Those who are strong rule and those who are not, serve at their will.”

Grimmjow nods. Of course, she understands. She was there after all. She saw enough. He takes a deep breath and runs his right hand through his blue hair. He feels wounded and vulnerable and he hates it. It’s hard to swallow down the anger — it would be so easy, so safe to fall back on. But he doesn’t, because he refuses to be weak and this is just a test of a different kind of strength. So, he continues.

“You didn’t just give me back a limb. You made me whole again. You took something that was supposed to be damaged beyond repair, surrounded it with shimmering golden warmth and undid what they had done. You gave me back my full power, my pride and my rank. If you hadn’t… I might have not survived long enough to meet Kurosaki in Hueco Mundo. I might have not been there to…” Grimmjow can’t get the words out. Even back then it had felt wrong, so wrong to see Kurosaki’s lifeless body. But now thinking about it fills him with a different type of dread.

“I probably wouldn’t be here.” Grimmjow’s throat is dry and the words seem to stick to it. The woman is listening with such intensity it makes him uneasy. She is taking in every syllable, noting every nuance. “When you are slowly dying, you have time to think. Between life and death, waiting for your fate to be decided, it’s where all lies and illusions crumble. I have been on that edge and one of the things I have realised is the magnitude of the debt I owe you.” Her eyes are wide open and full of emotions. There are so many that Grimmjow can’t differentiate them all. The woman raises her arms and with both delicate hands takes a gentle hold of his palm.

“And I fucking hate it. Sometimes when I look at you, I can feel that debt around my neck. Like a collar. And it makes me want to rip you apart and raze until there’s nothing left,” he confesses through gritted teeth. His violent nature shouldn’t be a surprise to her. Grimmjow’s lips curl into a joyless smile. “But it does make this thing with Kurosaki easier. The reach and true potential of your power are as monstrous as his. I tell myself I didn’t lose to weaker being. How the fuck is a king supposed to compete for the attention of a god against a goddess?”

The arrancar can’t look at the woman anymore. He has to close his eyes to force out the bitter end of his confession. This was what she wanted? A piece of Grimmjow he had shared with no one else. A payment. A sacrifice. So that she wouldn’t force him out of Kurosaki’s life. This feels like losing. Like giving up. Like begging. A rage erupts within him and it takes all of his willpower to remain still. It’s unexpected and shocking when soft lips press against the base of his left thumb. His eyes snap open and he looks at her. The expression on her face soft. Sad. And more fond than it should be. But there’s no pity. Thank the gods. Pity would enrage him so much, he might not be able to control his impulses.

“I have never told anyone what happened in Las Noches,” her voice is barely a whisper and Grimmjow almost thinks he imagined it. But he feels her warm breath and the movement of her lips on his hand. “Not the full story. Even after all these years, I just can’t get the words out. It’s almost silly. It was such a long time ago and I was there for such a short while. And since then we have all been through so much worse. But regardless, I just can’t tell them. About what was done. About what I did.”

The woman goes quiet and is very still, before finally lifting her face away from his hand. But she still holds onto him. “You are the only one alive who knows. Nel wasn’t there, Hallibel… I think she chose to ignorance because Aizen sanctioned it. You are the only one left who knows. I… I think that maybe you are the only one I can ever talk about it.” She is looking straight ahead as if she could see through his chest. Her eyes are oddly vacant like she is somewhere else in her mind. “About how I still have trouble letting it go. How I still feel like it changed something fundamental in me. Like there’s a small tear somewhere in my soul that I can’t mend no matter how hard I try.”

His brows furrow together as he listens. This isn’t what he expected to hear. Like the woman says, it was a long time ago. Almost a decade has passed. Regardless of that, this feels like payment too. It’s not a full confession, not like his was. But it’s something. Because Grimmjow does know. He knows what it was like to live in Aizen’s Las Noches and he knows to a great extent what it was like for her — or at least what she was subjected to.

“We were all to serve at Aizen’s pleasure.” For some reason, it’s the first thing that comes out of his mouth. His voice seems to have snapped her back and she has lifted her gaze to take in his. Grimmjow doesn’t know how to continue, what to say next. So he just stares into the woman’s eyes and she stares back. Completely unguarded, all feelings visible. As if she knows that there’s no memory or thought dark enough to shock him. To make him recoil, to make him lay shame on her. Nothing he would be unable to understand. And maybe she is right. The unforgiving, hard darkness of Hueco Mundo… the twisted reality of existing in Aizen’s palm. He understands those things well.

In the end, Grimmjow does something he never does with anyone — except Kurosaki, there’s always an exception for Kurosaki. He willingly wraps his arm around her waist and draws her in. His left arm now pressed between their bodies and the woman’s hands still holding onto it. She lays her forehead against his chest and for some reason, she starts crying. And he just stands there, frozen in place, holding her. He doesn’t know what else to do. The aggression, the resentment, the jealously — things they came into this room with — have disappeared. They have momentarily given way to something else. To these solemn confessions, painful memories, and truths. These things that feel like they are from another lifetime. Before or maybe beyond the inflamed knot they have formed coiling around Kurosaki. So maybe the woman is right. Maybe this is how they start unravelling it all.

* * *

Orihime doesn’t know what exactly triggers her tears, but crying feels purifying somehow. She cries because of the shame and self-hatred she feels for her actions. For how she slowly has let jealously change her into something she doesn’t want to be. As her tears pour out, Orihime tries to will the resentment to go with it. She takes quick, shaky breaths that do nothing to calm her. Instead, she cries even more. She cries because even after all these years, she can’t fully shake the loneliness and insecurity gnawing at her mind. She cries for how unfair this situation is. None of them have done anything wrong. After all the death and destruction, they deserve happiness and love. After all the sacrifice and abuse. Ichigo most of all. But so does Grimmjow, who is supposedly an abomination, a monster and yet still tries. Tries to be better, to be what Ichigo needs. And maybe, just maybe even Orihime herself deserves it. Happiness. Love. Regardless of her endless self-doubt, despite her petty jealously and emerging vindictiveness. Despite sometimes becoming a burden by trying too hard not to be one.

When she calms down enough to stop crying, she instantly feels guilty for it. Grimmjow doesn’t like humans in general and based on everything that has been going on, he probably likes her even less than others. Yet here she is, in his personal space. Forcefully involving him in her messy feelings. The kind that are hard to deal with, even for people who have emotional intelligence.

“I’m sorry,” Orihime says lifting her head. The black fabric of his catsuit is wet where it caught her tears. “For crying all over you,” she adds retreating and letting go of his hand. She doesn’t get far before the back of her thighs hit the desk. She doesn’t sit down on, instead just leans against it. She raises her hand to wipe away a few tears that still linger on her cheeks. A roar of laughter carries to her ears from the other room. She is fairly certain no one has noticed she is gone.

Grimmjow doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even look at her. She looks at him, though. It’s been a long, long time since she was able to do so without immediately slipping into a vortex of negative emotions. It’s different now. She knows that regardless of the cathartic nature of what happened, the negative emotions will come back. There’s no quick fix. But maybe they will come back less intense than before.

“Don’t drink any more tonight.” He eventually commands in an emotionless voice and Orihime lowers her eyes in shame. She still remembers the insinuation Grimmjow made. That she channels her parents’ worst attributes when she is drunk. Revealing her true, uninhibited self to be as nasty as she imagines they were. “Also do something to your face before you go back.” He adds — another order — and makes a vague gesture towards her head. “Otherwise even a dense fucker like Kurosaki will notice you have been crying. It will ruin his night.”

“You’re right,” Orihime nods. The determination she had earlier has vanished. The confessions and tears have stripped it away. So she just stares at the ground. Head lowered in submission, nervously chewing on her bottom lip. She watches as Grimmjow’s feet move towards the door, but before he slides it open, he stops.

“We made a vow. To not take what the other can’t live without. Right?” His voice is hoarse and Orihime raises her eyes and nods again. She can see from the hesitant look on his face that Grimmjow needs more. He needs to hear her say the words.

“Yes.”

“Yes,” he echoes before sliding the door open just enough to slip to the hallway. He closes it, leaving her alone in the darkened room and she thinks that maybe this is a kindness from him. Grimmjow is giving her time to pull herself together before returning to the crowd. To Ichigo. So Orihime leans down, laying her back against the cool wood of the desk. And she takes the opportunity to think, to take stock of what has happened.

Out of the three of them, she has mulled over these thoughts the longest — she is certain of that. She has known for years about the relationship between Ichigo and Grimmjow. Between her fiancé and the arrancar. She has thought about their situation more than is healthy by any meter. She has obsessed about it, cried over it countless of times. She has raged and she has tried to reason. Eventually, she decided that because of what Grimmjow is — a man, an arrancar, a warrior — it is easier to accept that she isn’t enough for Ichigo. Because what Grimmjow is, she can never become. It’s not her nature.

Orihime has also thought about how not all love has to look identical. Soul Society and the ragtag group of friends gathered around Ichigo have taught her that much. Made families. Relationships that span across centuries, without monogamy, eluding definition — yet not lacking love or commitment. She has seen these things and more play out in the lives of her friends and the people she associates with. So maybe even if she can’t be the end all be all for Ichigo, it doesn’t mean their love is somehow weaker or subpar.

These facts make the thought of sharing easier. She doesn’t know if she can ever truly get joy from seeing Ichigo with someone else. But she is pretty sure she can learn to live with it in a way that isn’t overly self-sacrificing. In a way that doesn’t make her miserable. In a way that doesn’t undermine the good, precious things she has with him. And Grimmjow seems willing to try. Orihime doesn’t know much about the inner workings of hollows. However, she does know that Nel and Hallibel are both capable of caring for others. They both know how to love. They are both able to act against their self-interest for the wellbeing of others. So maybe Grimmjow can learn to live with this too. But there’s still a huge unknown.

_Ichigo_.

In truth, she doesn’t know how Ichigo will see all this. They have been walking on eggshells around each other since his birthday party. Ichigo knows that she knows. That much is clear. But they haven’t talked about it, neither of them has dared to approach the subject. Orihime wants to imagine that it will be a relief for Ichigo if she tells him that he doesn’t have to choose. That he doesn’t have to lie anymore. That he can take what he needs from Grimmjow without shame. But she doesn’t know that for certain. Ichigo might feel that he does have to choose regardless. That he has to choose her because that’s what is expected. That’s what society expects. That’s what his family expects and in a way, it is what both of them have always expected.

The vows Grimmjow and Orihime make to each other are for nothing if Ichigo wants to choose. Or if he feels compelled to opt for loneliness instead. Because he can’t stand the thought of leaving one and carrying on with the other. That’s the possibility Orihime fears the most, the one that sinks into her belly like led. She lets out a heavy sigh and sits up. At least one more difficult conversation needs to take place. But not here, not tonight. Orihime doesn’t know if it will be better between just her and Ichigo, or should Grimmjow be there too. She got the feeling that tonight was pushing his patience and restraint. Whatever the case, it needs to be when they are sober and in private and feel safe to express their feelings.

Orihime smooths the hair on her head and listens to the sound of Yoruichi’s boisterous voice. She can’t quite make out the words, but it’s probably another embarrassing story from Urahara’s past. The kind that will leave all listeners in tears of laughter. She needs to get back. She takes care to fix her face in the hallway— not the noblest use of her sōten kisshun, but needs must — before sliding open the door leading to the large living area Urahara is using to host this gathering.

When they came here tonight, Orihime was donning a heavy mask of forced happiness. Trying to hide her true feelings from everyone. Like she so often does. Before she slipped away with Grimmjow that mask felt almost physically painful to uphold. But the smile Orihime wears now as she enters the room feels lighter. More genuine. Finally, it feels like there’s hope. That there’s a chance they find a path through all this. A solution. The kind that doesn’t leave all three of them devastated in its wake.

* * *

It was at his birthday party, where Ichigo realised that Orihime knew about his transgression. After he was confronted with that truth, it set off a chain reaction. Suddenly Ichigo was no longer fooled by her defences. The smiles she forced. How she would almost always excuse herself and disappear when Grimmjow was present. How sometimes, when she thought no one was watching, there was a heartbroken look on her face.

Since that day, it was like they were suspended in place. Ichigo could not bring himself to talk about it. He was too weak to face the consequences of his actions. He slept even worse than before. Nothing lessened his guilt. Nothing ever would, as nothing ever should. Ever since that day, Ichigo has forced himself to forgo — even if he knows that it’s too little, too late.

So whenever an unmistakable, electric and feral reiatsu has flared outside his window — beckoning, promising — he has gripped his bed and forced himself to stay. Like a coward, he has played dead. Waited until the hunter grows bored and leaves. It never feels like an accomplishment. It never feels like Ichigo is finally doing the right thing. The good thing. The moral thing. Instead, it feels wrong. Like trying to cut off one of his limbs with a dull blade, but Ichigo does it anyway. He tells himself that a soul doesn’t bleed, not from this kind of injury. He tells himself that it will pass. It will pass and there will be a time when it no longer feels wrong. And so he does it. Denies himself. Denies _them_. Deludes himself to thinking that maybe there can forgiveness now that he plays dead. That it’s good. That it leads to what his parents had.

Isshin and Masaki.

Ichigo and Orihime.

But why does it feel like if he keeps playing dead, he will end up really dying? When the remnants of Grimmjow’s reiatsu fade from Ichigo’s skin — from inside him — why does it feel like he is being carved out? Made hollow somewhere so deep that Orihime’s golden warmth can’t reach it? Ichigo loves her, truly loves her. Her wild imagination, her endless empathy, her kindness, her giving nature. He loves her sweet kisses and how her soft, gentle, body feels against his. Maybe he even worships her a little. She can heal everything. Fix everything.

But why then? Why isn’t it enough?

Maybe it’s him. Maybe after all the war, the blood, the death, the insidious mind-games and nightmares… maybe after all that there’s something so broken in him that not even she can will it back together. Something so dark, so twisted. Or maybe it’s not even what he went through. Maybe it’s just him. That part of him that’s inhuman, unnatural.

Hollow.

Maybe that’s why Ichigo craves it. Craves him. Craves how Grimmjow’s reiatsu surrounds every part of his body, how it sticks to every nanometre of his skin. It enters his lungs when he breathes, it fills him when they come together. Permeates every fibre of his being, seeping in from outside and radiating from within. Ichigo has never experienced anything like that before and is sure he will never experience it with anyone else. When their bodies meld together — when they interlock — Ichigo greedily takes everything Grimmjow gives him and the arrancar is equally as ravenous. It goes to such extremes that just before the peak, Ichigo can’t tell where he ends and Grimmjow begins. It’s like they become one, their reiryoku fusing as well as their bodies. Ichigo doesn’t know if that’s possible, he doesn’t know if it’s just all in his head. But whatever it is, it feels different. So very different from what he has with her.

Grimmjow and him, they consume each other. That’s what Ichigo’s logical mind tells him. Nurture each other, something else whispers and he ignores it. It would sound insane if he ever tried to explain it. Destructive and cannibalistic. He knows what people would say if they knew. Toxic. Unnatural. Hollow. It can’t be love. It can never be love. Not with an arrancar, not with another warrior, not with another man. (It can’t be that though, Ichigo has never judged. Never really cared. It can’t be it, can it?)

But he would give everything for Grimmjow. Just like he would for Orihime because Ichigo loves her. But with Grimmjow it isn’t love, it can’t be love. Why couldn’t it be love? Just because others would say it’s not? An arrancar and a shinigami are natural enemies. But Ichigo isn’t just a shinigami, he is also a human, a quincy, a visored. If someone can love a mongrel like him, there’s no reason someone couldn’t love an arrancar as well. Grimmjow is a warrior, but not an enemy. Not anymore. And loving someone who you fight alongside doesn’t make you weak. It doesn’t hinder you in battle. Ichigo knows this. He knows because he loves his friends dearly and has been stronger because of them — not despite them.

It’s not because they are both men. It can’t be that. He has never judged, never really cared. He would never even dare to imply that what Ikkaku and Yumichika have isn’t love. Those two are stronger together, would give anything for each other. There’s no shame in their love and it’s stayed true for centuries. Ichigo has never doubted or judged, but if he is honest with himself, it has also never been for him. About him. For him, there has always been a family. A wife. Children. Grand-children. A lifetime with a soulmate, a love that is larger than life.

Isshin and Masaki.

Dad and mom.

Ichigo and Orihime.

Husband and wife.

It’s a mantra he chants in his head. That’s why it can’t be love. Grimmjow doesn’t fit in with all that. But, no matter how many times he runs all this — all these excuses and expectations — over in his head, there’s always a sharp, undeniable truth at the end of it. That it is love. It can’t be anything else. Time after time Ichigo forces himself to swallow it down, to bury it somewhere deep. You can’t love two people. Not like that. So as he walks towards Orihime’s apartment he does it again. Swallows down and denies himself.

Orihime has invited him over and the request itself is not unusual. They spend a lot of time at her place because it’s more private. He still lives at his father’s house, his childhood home. Renting out an apartment from the city seems wasteful when Karakura is within commuting distance from his university. It’s also easier to navigate his duties as a shinigami when he doesn’t have to focus on hiding the supernatural from a roommate or a dorm full of students. However, today Ichigo doesn’t know what to expect and an uneasy feeling haunts him as he reaches her door.

Ever since his birthday, Ichigo has felt like he is standing blindfolded in front of a firing squad. Waiting for that final blow, but it never seems to come. There has been no confrontation, no acknowledgement of their situation. Instead, they have been going through the motions — hiding behind routine and silence. This last week Ichigo has noticed a small change, but he doesn’t know if it’s for the better or the worse. It has come about after the most recent of Urahara’s parties. (Ichigo refuses to call those sake-filled bacchanals veteran support group meetings, no matter how much the shopkeeper insists.)

Orihime has felt less like she is suppressing pain. Less like she is biting back tears. Ichigo doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know what happened at Urahara’s. He fears this is just the calm before the storm. That her newfound serenity is because she has steeled her resolve. Mustered up what Ichigo can not and is now seeing this thing — this beautiful thing he destroyed — to its end. It seems the most likely option. More likely than the possibility that Orihime has forgiven him. He feels guilty even thinking about that. Entertaining the hope that she has decided to grant him absolution even if Ichigo has never dared to ask for it.

Ichigo rings the doorbell and reminds himself that he loves Orihime. He loves her so much he would die for her. He loves her and that’s why he smiles an uneasy smile, trying to hide his fear. He fears that this is the day she tells him she doesn’t love him anymore. Not after what he has done. Not after the lies, the betrayal. He wishes it’s not that. It’s the most selfish thing he has ever wished for. Ichigo knows he doesn’t deserve it, doesn’t have to right to ask for it. But he still hopes she will never stop loving him.

Orihime opens the door and when she steps aside to let him in, Ichigo can tell that she is anxious. She is trying to hide it, but can’t. However, she isn’t sad like before. Not angry or hurt like before. Maybe this shift between them has truly been for the better. Maybe what has happened is making Orihime feel better. The thought makes Ichigo feel a little better too. At least until he is fully inside and realises what this is.

This is a trap.

The small apartment is flooded with late afternoon sun. It’s silent. The TV is on but has been muted. The brightly coloured, flashy ad catches his attention for a moment anyway, before Ichigo’s eyes drift to the table. Orihime has set out tea for two, just like she usually does. Nothing abnormal or alarming about that. However, there’s something else on the table beside the tea set and the delicate platter of biscuits. There’s a bottle of beer on it. The bottle is open, but the glass next to it clean and unused. This is highly unusual. A third place has been set. He doesn’t quite understand why or rather for whom. His eyes dart away from the table, scanning the room and that’s when Ichigo sees _him_.

Grimmjow is there. Staring out of the living room window, his back turned to them. Ichigo’s heart feels like he might go into cardiac arrest. Why didn’t he sense the arrancar? How? It’s true that he isn’t good with sensing spiritual pressure, but he has never had issues with recognising Grimmjow. After all, by now he is intimately familiar with how the arrancar’s reiatsu feels and tastes and hums against his skin. The only reasonable explanation is that Grimmjow is wearing one of Urahara’s gigais. The kind that mask spiritual pressure.

This is an ambush.

Ichigo panics and his eyes seek out Orihime. She just smiles at him. It’s a small, nervous smile. For a moment he wonders why she is so calm, but then she starts speaking. “Ichigo, sit down. I… Maybe I should have told you that I invited Grimmjow too. Sit down.” She gestures towards the table, seating herself down on a zabuton. Ichigo is very familiar with her nervous rambles and can tell this is the beginning of one. He doesn’t mind. He would take one of those any day over of the chafing silence that has been the norm for too long.

“I made tea for all of us, but Grimmjow didn’t want tea. He said it reminds him too much about how Aizen always wanted to take tea and I didn’t have anything else to offer, except the beer. I know it’s a bit early for that, but just water didn’t feel right and at least he can eat the snacks because of the gig-”

“Shut up, woman.” Grimmjow snarls and Orihime falls silent immediately. “Your drivel is useless. All it does is make me want to stab myself through the head. Get to the point.” His tone is needlessly harsh as he speaks. Regardless of the hostility, Grimmjow saunters across the room like nothing is wrong. The arrancar takes a seat at the table, right where the beer is placed.

Ichigo is the only one left standing. He has been too busy trying to comprehend the situation to move. He didn’t react to Orihime’s repeated invitations to sit down. Or scold Grimmjow for being so harsh with her, when there was no need. Now he just stands there, watching as Grimmjow takes the open beer bottle and drinks straight out of it. Completely ignoring the glass Orihime had laid out for him.

“You are right, I’m sorry.” Orihime sighs as she pours tea to the cups. Her words are aimed at the arrancar, who is sitting across the table from her. “Ichigo,” she looks up at him. “Please, sit down.” She gestures to the empty spot and finally, Ichigo lowers himself onto one of the pillows.

Grimmjow and Orihime are on opposite sides of the table. She is at Ichigo’s right, the other man at his left. An uneasy silence surrounds them. That silence goes on for a long time as they sip their drinks. Ichigo doesn’t dare to break it, because he is fearful of what will follow. By now it’s obvious to him that this is premeditated, there’s a reason why they are all here. He keeps his eyes on the table, not paying attention to the other two or the intense stare they share. Ichigo is too ashamed, too scared, to witness the silent conversation happening between his fiancée and his… lover.

“ _I know_.” The words spill from Orihime’s lips, cutting like a blade through the silence and all of Ichigo’s thoughts. He knows this, of course. He has known for a while now. But this is the first time either of them has admitted it out loud. Put it to words. Somehow it makes the whole mess feel even worse. More real. Now that the words are out there’s no going back, there’s no pretending anymore. Ichigo grips his teacup so hard, he worries about breaking it.

“I- I- I-,” Ichigo tries. Lost and hopeless, he can’t get anything out. So he meets her eyes. Orihime just raises her hand to silence him. There’s no need for the order, Ichigo would not know what to say in his defence. There’s nothing that could justify his lies and his selfishness. But still, it feels like a small mercy from her.

“Please, Ichigo. Just listen,” she says and her eyes drift to Grimmjow. The arrancar is trying to hide what he feels, but Ichigo has learned to see through that mask of idle ire. Grimmjow is uncomfortable, just as nervous as Orihime, just as… hurt. For some reason that realisation makes Ichigo draw a sharp breath. He has been so consumed with guilt about how much this hurts her, he didn’t even fully consider what it does to Grimmjow.

“I know. And we…” Orihime gestures the air between herself and Grimmjow. “We have talked about this. You don’t have to choose. We… we don’t want you to choose. You don’t have to abandon one and carry on with the other. Or to choose to be alone, just because you could never be so unjust. We.. I.. You…”

Ichigo can tell that she has rehearsed her words because she manages to deliver them with such confidence it surprises him. It’s near the end — where her carefully crafted lines unravel — when she betrays just how much this pains her. Ichigo can see her hesitation, see that now she is loss for words. To his surprise, Grimmjow makes eye contact with her and slowly nods. In encouragement. And so she continues.

“I love you. I will always love you. I won’t — I can’t — pretend this hasn’t hurt me. But it’s not just me who is hurt. We all are. I know that you love me, Ichigo. I know you… care very deeply for him. He fills some need in you I can’t meet.” Her words are full of emotion. For once she isn’t trying to hide it or play it down. There’s no nervous smile or dismissive gesturing. Ichigo wants to lean closer, to take her hand. To offer support, comfort her as she is opening up this way — but it’s not his place to do so. Not now. Not when he is the epicentre of this calamity. So instead he just sits there, unmoving like a statue.

“I think I can learn to find happiness in how he makes you happy. So you can take what he gives you, what you need from him and you don’t have to hide it. You don’t have to lie or fear that it will lead to you losing me. And… and.. I think I can learn to not be jealous of what you give him. And he will do the same regarding me.” Orihime finishes and looks straight into Ichigo’s eyes.

Is this real? Is this true? Can it be? Ichigo doesn’t know what to feel. He doesn’t know what to think. They have talked about this. Grimmjow and Orihime have talked about the lies, the affair. About him. They have talked and concluded that instead of ripping their respective pounds of flesh from Ichigo, they will… what? Share? Divide him up like children sharing a bag of candy.

“I don’t…” Ichigo begins and his eyes dart to Grimmjow, who has been silent all this time. “Are you-” He isn’t quite sure what he is about to ask the arrancar, but before he has to make up his mind, Grimmjow speaks.

“Tsk.” The man turns his face away from Ichigo and away from Orihime. “It’s how she says. All this talking, not really my strong suit. But yeah, me and her. We did talk. We’ll work out our… issues, so we can tolerate invading each other’s territory.” There’s a joyless, toothy grin on his face as he continues. “Shit like this isn’t exactly unique. Mila Rose, Apacci, and Sung-Sun, their pack dynamics are similar. And if those vapid bitches can make it work…” Grimmjow shrugs, his manner so nonchalant that Ichigo almost believes it. He is sure no one else would be able to see through it. But Ichigo can. He knows how Grimmjow claims him. Ichigo knows because he loves it. How intense, how uncompromising, the claim is. So the bravado doesn’t fool him. He can see it’s extremely hard for the arrancar to allow this. To share.

“We will try it for you.” Orihime declares and then there’s silence. A long silence. “I mean… That is… if you want to try.” She adds in a more subdued manner, discouraged by the lack of reply. Ichigo knows he is supposed to speak now. But what he is supposed to say is a complete mystery to him.

“I don’t know. I don’t want to hurt you,” is what he eventually settles on. Honesty seems like the best thing now. It’s long overdue and Ichigo feels like if he lies now, it will be the final straw. He steals a glance of Grimmjow’s face before returning his attention to the woman. “Either of you.”

“I know. I know that. But Ichigo, _you already have_.” The words feel like a punch to the gut. It’s not like Orihime to be this frank. To not lessen the blow of her words. To not guard his emotional wellbeing at the cost of her own. For a moment some part of him feels slighted. Like this is unnecessarily cruel from her. But the words only hurt so much because they are true. And so Ichigo has no right to accuse her of cruelty.

He sees Grimmjow reach for the beer in a jerky, nervous movement. Ichigo doesn’t know the extent of the discussion those two had. He doesn’t know if they have agreed on everything she is saying beforehand. Or if Grimmjow is just allowing her to lead because she seems to be the only one who sees a way out of this mess. As words continue to tumble out of Orihime’s mouth, Ichigo returns his attention to her. Trying to grasp the full meaning of her words.

“We are miserable with how things are now. If you choose, one of us will be alone and the relationship you keep will never be the same. Guilt over the abandonment will haunt it until the end.” Orihime states and Ichigo knows she is not wrong. “And if you opt for loneliness… then we would all still be suffering, still deeply unhappy and on top of that, we would be alone. There’s no way out of this that doesn’t hurt. But there might be one that causes less pain than the others. One that might lead to happiness one day.”

“But you wouldn’t need to be alone forever,” Ichigo can’t bring himself to look at either of them. “You could mov—”

“Shut the fuck up and listen to what she has to say.”

“Neither of us want to move on from you, even if we could.” Orihime’s voice is slightly hesitant when she speaks and Ichigo can see her glancing at Grimmjow. Maybe she was startled by his sudden interjection. Or maybe they have entered a territory the two have not discussed beforehand. “We know the other options will end up in heartbreak. And if we don’t even try… I think that would be wrong. Because this is all happening due to love, not because we are actively trying to hurt each other. We don’t lose anything if we try. ”

_Brutal honesty. The only way to wade through this is to admit what you want, what you feel. First to yourself and then to lay it all bare for them to see._ That’s what Yumichika told Ichigo on his birthday. It had been after the confrontation between Orihime and Grimmjow. Renji and Yumichika had intercepted it, prevented it from becoming a public humiliation. The two had diffused the situation and done damage control. With help from Ikkaku, they had contained and controlled his private crisis. Prevented a scandal when Ichigo had been too shocked to do anything. He had been so relieved, so grateful to Yumichika and Renji for taking care it that he hadn’t even questioned how come they knew so well what was going on.

Now Yumichika’s words are playing in his mind like a broken record. He wonders if the older shinigami had instructed Renji to say the same thing to Orihime when his friend had escorted her out of the party. Because it seems like that is what Orihime is doing now. Wading through this. Ichigo has been too much of a coward to take the advice given to him. Too afraid to face the consequences of his actions, unable to lead them through this mess his twisted heart had put them in.

Keeping tears at bay is hard, but Ichigo bites them back. He wants to cry, to break down. Because he is desperate, at the end of his rope. But he doesn’t cry, because it feels like he doesn’t have the right to cry. This is all his fault. He is the one who has wronged both Orihime and Grimmjow. And it feels like he is still wronging them, by even entertaining what she has suggested.

“There’s no hurry. No need to make decisions right now.” Orihime’s voice is soft and there’s an unmistakable tinge of sadness in it. “Maybe if we just talk for a little bit.”

“Talk about what?” Grimmjow’s retort is blunt and his tone bristling. Like he has trouble containing himself. As if this whole situation is jarring for him and he just wants it to end. Orihime doesn’t answer, clearly even she is unsure of how this conversation should carry on. Now that she has laid her heart on the table. After a quiet moment, Ichigo decides to ask a question of his own.

“How long have you known?” Ichigo is pretty sure Orihime had known for a good while before the birthday party. At least a few weeks, maybe even months. She has never been the type of person to immediately respond with aggression. She usually avoids that at all costs. So, Ichigo suspects the betrayal had been weighing on her mind for a while before she acted.

“Almost three years. I began suspecting something was going on after…”

“After what?” There’s an openly curious tone in Grimmjow’s voice as he observes her with those vigilant eyes of his. For some reason, Orihime blushes.

“After we stopped having sex on fight nights.” It’s not an answer either of the men expect. Orihime is clearly forcing herself to push through embarrassment and discomfort in order to discuss this topic. _Brutal honesty._ At least brutal to herself. “Fight nights used to be well… almost like a guarantee for mind-blowing sex. When Ichigo would come to me straight after your spar. I mean, most of the time he wouldn’t even wait for me to heal him first.” Her eyes have a fond look in them when she looks at Ichigo.

“The first few times were a bit overwhelming, because you were so intense and _his_ reiatsu was clinging to you from all the injuries. It was so strong. Almost felt like it wasn’t just the two of us in the room. But when I got used to it… I mean, I love all the other kind of sex we have too..” She was now rambling again, but Ichigo doesn’t do anything to interrupt her. And this time neither does Grimmjow. Orihime is looking straight at Ichigo. Like it’s easier for her to address him rather than the arrancar when talking about something this intimate. And he can’t blame her for it.

“There was just this different quality to how you were on those nights. Different from how you usually are. And then suddenly you stopped coming home already hard from the fight. Instead, you were just tired. Sated. You would let me heal you and instead of intense sex, there would be cuddles. And when that became more common, it was obvious that something had changed. I didn’t realise it was him at first. Because I mean, you two had been fighting and it was only natural for his reiatsu to stick to the wounds, to you. But after a while, that last piece clicked too.”

Three years. After Orihime’s full description of how she caught onto them, it’s the only thing that sticks. Three years. That’s what Ichigo takes from all this. She was silent for three years. It took that long for the build-up before Orihime lashed out at Grimmjow. Ichigo can’t help but wonder if she would have just forgiven the affair if it had ended at some point. If then she would have carried the knowledge of his sin to her grave.

“It wasn’t his fault, you know.”

Holy fuck. Ichigo’s eyes are wide as he turns to face the arrancar who just spoke. Grimmjow is staring at Orihime with a blank expression on his face. Ichigo very rarely talks about feelings with him. It’s difficult for both of them. They always mess it up and even when it’s just the two of them, Grimmjow hates to show weakness. So Ichigo can’t tear his eyes away when the arrancar speaks.

“The first time it happened, it wasn’t his fault.” It looks as if it’s physically hard for the man to get the words out. “We had agreed to wait until he does this whole human thing. That whatever would be the conclusion of… We would wait until he was done here and then just let it just play out after. When we would be free to ride it out until the very end.”

Until the bloody end. Ichigo still remembers that discussion. Back when this thing between him and Grimmjow was something less tangible. It’s still something neither of them can put into words, but the nature of their connection had been even more elusive back then. They didn’t know if it would end with one killing the other — consuming, something in him whispers — or if they would eventually meet mutually assured destruction, because they reached a point where one would not survive without the other. Even if the end would be just one falling in battle and the other left behind to grieve, the survivor would be permanently changed. They had recognised this. They had recognised the all-encompassing, potentially destructive nature of their connection. And so they had agreed to wait until they could see it through with no regrets.

“I’m not even going to try to come up with pretty words to talk about how fucking raw the pull is. It took a split second from Kurosaki. For a moment he gave in, stopped fighting against it. And I took that opportunity so fast. I…” Grimmjow bites his teeth together, hard. Ichigo thinks he is repressing rage. The arrancar doesn’t repress the deep growl of frustration that leaves his body and reverberates through the small room. “Tsk. I couldn’t control it. The need. So I started something we couldn’t stop. When I was supposed to be the strong one. For once in my fucking life. Protect him, when he couldn’t...” The beer bottle in Grimmjow’s hand cracks under the pressure of his grip and the glass shatters. Sharp shards dig into soft skin and beer mixed with blood spills from Grimmjow’s closed fist.

“Fuck this. I need to kill something.” Grimmjow is out of his gigai so fast Ichigo doesn’t have time to react. The empty body collapses to the floor and Grimmjow stands up in his true form. Now Ichigo can feel his reiatsu. Crackling. Flaring. Furious. Ichigo can see his muscles tense, no doubt in preparation for sonido. But before Grimmjow disappears, he looks straight into Ichigo’s eyes. His voice brash and loud, when he declares:

“What she says still stands. It’s the deal. You don’t get to ditch us when we are willing to go through this bullshit for you.”


End file.
